


The Things We Do For Love

by yavannauk



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode Tag, F/M, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-08
Updated: 1999-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yavannauk/pseuds/yavannauk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the end of the episode "Deliverance" Methos finally comes to terms with his feelings for MacLeod, but Duncan isn't the only person he has to think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Do For Love

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Erika and especially to Laurey - without whom this story would have been much the poorer - for their comments and suggestions.

"It's over." 

"Then I think this is yours." I stood poised on the edge of the pool and proffered the katana which I had been holding, hidden, behind my back. Duncan MacLeod slowly looked up at me. 

"Yeah." He nodded his agreement. He sounded tired, and far older than his 400 years. 

Despite that, I couldn't help the feeling of relief that swept dizzyingly over me. I knew only too well just how close a call it had been, but now it was all right. Duncan was all right! My gladness bubbled over, escaped as relieved, joyous laughter. I couldn't remember when simply laughing had felt so good before. 

MacLeod held up a hand to me and I braced myself, reached down and grasped it as I helped him clamber from the pool. We stood balanced on the rocks for a long moment, hands clasped. Our eyes met and held likewise - a measuring stare. 

Yes, he really was himself again. Duncan MacLeod had survived intact. The wild light of the Dark Quickening was gone from his gaze. I had looked into the depths of that darkness more than once over the past few days and I would have recognised its presence, but it had been banished. Whether it had been the holy spring, the essence of Sean Burns' Quickening or the essential goodness in the man's own heart which had been his salvation, I couldn't say for certain. I was sure, though, that only Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod remained and it gladdened me, heart and soul. 

The tableau held for a moment longer and then he shivered. I abruptly remembered that the cave was icy cold and that MacLeod had been immersed to his waist in freezing water. His heavy clothing was soaking wet where it clung to his skin. For some reason I couldn't fathom, Duncan's hair was equally sodden and plastered in damp tendrils about his face and down the back of his neck. Practical considerations surfacing, I tugged at his hand. 

"Come on, Mac, let's get you out of here," I prompted. "You're drenched. You'll..." 

"Catch my death?" he commented wryly. I grinned back at him, grateful for the brief flash of humour. That was more like my MacLeod! 

"Hardly," I chuckled, letting him see I appreciated the joke. "But I'm sure you could do with a drink and a chance to dry off. It won't hurt if you're not back in Paris until tomorrow." 

"What about Joe?" As always MacLeod was more concerned about his friends than about himself. 

"It's OK, Mac. Actually, there's a small country hotel a few miles back up the road. You can call Joe from there. As it happens I already booked a couple of rooms on the off chance..." 

I let the words trail off, shrugged nonchalantly. In truth, I hadn't been certain if both of us would still be around to take up the booking. I shuddered at the unpleasant thought and turned away. As I prepared to clamber back up the rope, MacLeod put a hand on my shoulder and stopped me. 

"Thank you, Methos, for what you did. I know the risk you were taking. I could have..." Duncan couldn't bring himself to put it into words, but I knew what he meant. Under the influence of the Dark Quickening he might easily have lost control and killed me. He'd come damned close to it. I could still feel the bite of his sword's edge against my throat - and that had been on Holy Ground! 

"It's all right, MacLeod, you don't have to..." 

"Yes, I do, Methos. You're always so quick to tell me how you didn't survive this long by worrying about other people. Well, I have to tell you, I'm glad you're such a shocking liar." I dropped my gaze, embarrassed. MacLeod was too good at finding my weak spots. "Thank you," he continued emphatically, "you're a good friend. I really didn't expect or deserve..." 

"MacLeod, at this rate you'll have me believing my own publicity!" I interrupted him abruptly. "Any one of your friends would have done the same thing," I insisted. 

I was trying to make light of it, but the truth was I had been terrified of losing him to the Dark Quickening. I had known full well I was taking a big risk with my own life going after him, but where Duncan MacLeod was concerned 5000 years of survival instincts always seemed to go right out the window. I didn't care to examine my motives too closely, though. I might claim they were altruistic - that I believed MacLeod was too important to the Game to lose - but it's hard to tell lies to yourself when you've heard them all before. 

His hand still rested on my shoulder and I could feel the warmth of it clear through my coat and jumper to the skin underneath. The feeling seemed to brand itself into my senses and I knew all the lies in the world couldn't hide my real reason for needing to save Duncan MacLeod. Yes, he was too important to lose, but the Game had nothing to do with it. Quite simply, he was too important to me. 

For centuries before I met him I had been merely existing, avoiding contact with other Immortals, taking no Quickenings. Yes, I was alive, but I could hardly claim to have been living. Then, in the midst of the Kalas fiasco, the Highlander had walked into my apartment and, without even knowing it, had given me back my life. I still find it hard to believe that, with a glorious twist of irony, within hours of meeting him I was offering him my head! I didn't know myself any more, but I have to say I'm eternally grateful he didn't take me up on my rash offer. Only rarely had I met another of our kind with that same force of personality, and certainly never one with such an inherent purity of heart. I was lost before I ever realised it. 

As these thoughts ran through my head I noticed MacLeod was watching me closely, and his scrutiny made me suddenly uncomfortable. Without another word, I turned back to the rope and busied myself attaching clips to the harness and ensuring that the katana, which I still carried for him, was safe. As I began to climb his voice floated after me, answering my last denial. 

"Perhaps, but only you could have, Methos. Only you knew about this place. I'm glad you did." 

That was true enough, I reflected as I waited for MacLeod back on the surface. Still, his thanks made me even more uncomfortable than I had been before. I felt somehow hypocritical accepting them when I knew my motivations had been purely selfish. I was also becoming less than happy with myself for another reason. Here I was admitting to aspects of my feelings for Duncan I had no right to be even considering when I wasn't free to pursue them. I knew full well that Alexa was waiting patiently and trustingly for me in Athens. If I let myself forget that I would be even more of a bastard than I generally considered myself to be. My track record on commitment was hardly exemplary. 

Forgive me, Alexa. I offered up the thought as if it were a prayer, a request for intercession from the one I had least right to ask it of. I only left you because he needed me even more than you did - and while I can do nothing to save you from what lies ahead, with Duncan I could make a difference. I hope you understand that. This wasn't a premeditated betrayal of your trust. What I feel for him was there long before I met you. I'll be back soon, and I hope you'll never see how I am torn. Dear Gods, I hope nothing happens to you while I'm away... You deserve so much better than me! 

I loved Alexa. Whatever else might be going on inside my head and my heart that was the undeniable truth. Her death, when it came, would tear me apart; I would have no need to pretend my grief. And in the time that was left to us, I would keep my promises to her, would never abandon her. What I had come here to do had no bearing on my life with Alexa. Call it Watcher business, an Immortal thing... but if that were true, then could MacLeod and I...? 

I refused to let myself continue the thought as Mac emerged from the entrance to the spring. I was already too good at finding justifications for unpalatable truths in my existence. The mundane task of stowing the climbing gear and our swords in the back of the car provided me with the distraction I needed. 

MacLeod wrapped himself in his still dry coat for warmth as he settled himself in the passenger seat of the Volvo beside me. The journey to the hotel passed in silence. We both seemed to have descended into introspection. Nevertheless, I was very much aware of the sideways looks Mac kept giving me. Perhaps this whole overnight stay thing wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe I should leave him at the hotel and head for the hills at the first opportunity. Just another Methos disappearing act. I was always good at those - especially when I found myself in a situation I'd rather not face up to. 

Reluctantly I came to the conclusion that it would be unfair of me to just leave. Though when the hell I got a conscience about such things, I've no idea. MacLeod had no transport to get him back to Paris - the stolen car had apparently been abandoned before I tracked him down to Darius' church. I couldn't just dump Mac like so much unwanted baggage. Knowing him, after his recent experiences, he would need the company. Otherwise he would probably sink into one of his fits of dark, Scottish brooding. Not a good idea at present. No, I couldn't simply up and leave him. 

The way you left Alexa? 

The nasty little voice of my untimely reawakened conscience couldn't resist the dig. I ignored it. That was a talent I'd perfected long ago, before it had become redundant when I learned to bury my finer feelings as part of my self-taught survival skills. It served its purpose now, though, as I turned my thoughts back to my immediate problem. 

When it came down to it, I was an adult - I was 5000 years old for Gods' sakes! I could handle a bad case of unrequited love - lust? - for a few more hours without disgracing myself. Then I could just take Mac back to the barge tomorrow and make good my escape. Simple. That is, it would be if he didn't realise the feelings I was nursing and decide it would be a wonderful idea to sit down and talk about them. I had an uncomfortable suspicion, though, that MacLeod had chosen an unfortunate moment to get with it. The looks he was throwing me were a little too acute to be merely coincidental. Damn it, he'd remained blissfully oblivious this long... Why now?! 

Because I had told him, I realised belatedly. My words, my actions throughout this whole incident had gone beyond those of just a friend. Oh, if our positions had been reversed and it had been Mac riding to the rescue, it would perhaps have been possible to simply put it down to his Boy Scout honour code. But he knew me well enough to know I didn't operate by those kinds of rules and so I had to have another motivation. And despite all my earlier efforts to put him off the scent, MacLeod seemed to have got a clue and figured out that I was infatuated with him. Doubtlessly, the fact that I had left Alexa to come to him would have been the final confirmation. 

It would certainly explain the curious glances coming my way from those damnable big brown eyes of his. It also meant the next few hours promised to be - uncomfortable. After all, Mac had to be just about the straightest person I knew. I'd been around long enough to figure out that the sex of a partner was far less important than whether or not you loved them. MacLeod had been brought up in altogether different times. How would he handle the fact that one of his closest male friends had a crush on him worthy of a teenager? 

Shit! Inelegant perhaps, but a heartfelt expression of how I was feeling. It seemed I was well on the way to wrecking the two most important relationships in my life at the present time. Still, I was a fast talker when I needed to be. I could talk my way out of this one too - tell Mac he was imagining things. Yeah, it was Dawson who sent me - no one else he could trust in the vicinity. Blah, blah, blah... No problem! 

The hotel was small, off the beaten track. I'd been here quite a few times in the past when I'd needed to disappear at short notice. The staff knew me and chose to make no comment on our limited luggage and Mac's somewhat disreputable appearance. MacLeod raised an elegant eyebrow in my direction as the manager took the time to be certain everything was to M. Pierson's liking. 

In fact it was. We'd been given two pleasant en suite rooms connected by a shared sitting room. The beds were large and soft; there were open fires blazing in the hearths and the minibars were at least adequately stocked. 

"Nice," Mac observed as he took the guided tour. "M. Pierson is obviously a valued customer." 

"Yeah, well, I've stayed here a few times in the past," I admitted evasively. 

"Uh huh, one of your boltholes. At least I'll know where to start looking next time you do your vanishing act." Mac grinned at me and I couldn't help the rather foolish smile I sent him in return. It was just too much of a relief to have MacLeod, whole and sane, keeping company with me again. 

"Look, why don't you get out of those soaking wet clothes and go take a long hot bath," I suggested. "They leave robes in the bathrooms so I'll have the maid take your stuff and get it dried." Anything to postpone any kind of conversation for a while longer. 

"Thanks, Methos." Mac gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze and headed into the nearest bathroom. I heard the water running as I shed my coat and availed myself of the contents of one of the minibars. 

"Throw your clothes out here and I'll take care of them," I called as I sipped at a very welcome scotch. 

"They're on the floor; I'm already in the bath," Duncan's voice floated out to me. "You can come and get them - it's not locked." 

Those weren't the words I'd expected to hear. Was he doing it deliberately, to test me? The last thing I wanted was to be confronted with the sight of Duncan MacLeod reclining naked in the bath. Well, that wasn't strictly the truth. Mac in the bath, under the shower, in my bed - I'd fantasised about all those possibilities at one time or another. These simply weren't the circumstances I would have planned for turning any of those fantasies into a reality, and the timing was lousy. 

Get a grip! I chided myself. So, Duncan was in the bath. Big deal! The bath would be full of water and soap bubbles and I wouldn't see a thing. It wasn't as if he'd asked me to go in there and scrub his back for him! 

I set my drink down and pushed the bathroom door open. Mac had evidently run the water a long time to get it hot, as the room was at a practically tropical temperature and full of steam. I could hardly avoid looking at him completely. It would have seemed far more suspicious if I'd made a blind grab for the heap of wet clothes and promptly run out again. So, I forced myself to pause and look across at the figure in the bath. 

Duncan was facing me, lying back in the water with one knee raised above its surface. His hands were visible, clutching soap and a sponge. He had released his hair from its clasp and it was plastered damply to his face and neck. I simply stood for a long moment, Mac's clothes clutched to my chest, and took in what was, to me, just about the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen. 

If I'd ever hoped to convince myself I didn't really love him, desire him, the foolishness of that notion hit me now. The swift and unmistakable response from my body gave the lie to any protestations I might make that my feelings for Duncan MacLeod were nothing more than platonic. 

"Nice bath?" I asked stupidly, just to break the suddenly oppressive silence. "Um, I'll, er... get your clothes taken care of then, OK?" 

Oh, yeah, really smooth talking, Methos!! I was quite disgusted with myself. Could I possibly make it any more obvious? MacLeod's eyes met mine for a brief instant and I knew he could read everything that was in my heart as if it were an open book. I saw shock in that dark gaze and fled before I could do or say anything unforgivable. I slammed the door shut behind me and drew in a lungful of cooler air. After the steamy atmosphere of the bathroom it was a relief to do so. 

I needed to distract myself so I shoved MacLeod's dirty clothes into a laundry bag and called the desk for someone to come and collect them. I dumped the bag outside the door to avoid the need for being disturbed. That dealt with, I picked up my drink and downed it in one, followed by two more in a very short space of time. I cursed the fact that, being Immortal, it took a considerable amount of time and alcohol for me to get drunk. I was still going to be distressingly sober by the time Duncan finished his bath. 

I briefly reconsidered the option of getting in my car and driving back to Paris on my own straight away. With a sigh I dismissed the idea. It would only be postponing the inevitable. I might as well get this over with now. Perhaps Duncan's gratitude for my help with the Dark Quickening would temper his disgust at finding out my interest in him went beyond simple friendship. 

As a further distraction I decided to make use of the shower in the other bathroom. It felt good to let the hot water cascade over me. I scrubbed away the dust of the cavern from my hair and skin and dried myself off on the thick, soft towels provided by the hotel. It was good to be clean, even if I didn't have a full change of clothes with me - I hadn't had time to grab more than fresh underwear and a T-shirt when I left. I dressed in what I had anyway, rather than send my own clothes for laundering as well. Slightly muddy jeans and a rumpled sweater were a minor inconvenience. I wasn't about to put myself in Duncan's vicinity clad in nothing more than a robe! Mac was still absent when I was done and I downed a couple more quick drinks to fill the time. 

I dreaded the opening of the bathroom door, and when it came I pretended a great interest in the view from the window. I saw Mac's reflection in the glass as he approached me and launched myself abruptly into motion, heading for the minibar again. 

"Have a drink, MacLeod," I offered expansively. "This scotch isn't bad. Here..." 

"Methos!" 

I ignored him and found a second glass, half filling it with the golden liquid and refilling my own at the same time. Surely I'd start to feel the effects soon! 

"There you go." I held the drink out to him at arm's length. Carefully I avoided meeting his gaze. "Really, it is pretty good," I coaxed when he made no move to take it from me. 

"Damn you, Methos, stop this!" He finally snatched the glass from me and slammed it down on the nearest flat surface, spilling half the contents. The violence of Duncan's movements startled me and I looked up in concern. Had I been wrong to assume he was over the effects of the Dark Quickening? 

His face, however, held no trace of the evil Duncan MacLeod who had killed Sean Burns and threatened my own life. There was, nonetheless, frustration and a trace of anger in his expression. His dark eyes bored into mine and I found I hadn't the strength to look away. I felt older and more tired than I had in a long time. Methos, the oldest living Immortal, rendered utterly helpless by this 400 year old Highland child. I failed to appreciate the irony of the situation. 

"Methos, in God's name will you please stop running away from me!" Duncan shook his head and his face slowly relaxed. I watched him warily, uncertain of his reaction. "If you'd just stand still for a moment or two maybe we can talk about whatever it is that's bothering you so much." 

"I don't know what you mean, Mac." Play dumb, always a useful opening gambit. MacLeod was having none of it, though. 

"Don't treat me like a fool, Methos. My arithmetic is quite good actually." I frowned at him stupidly, catching the sarcasm, but still failing to understand. "I can put two and two together and come up with four just as well as the next man," Mac elaborated. 

Oh... I took another sip of my drink to avoid the necessity of saying anything, but then Duncan reached out and very precisely removed the glass from my hand. He set it down beside his own - though rather more gently - and then looked back at me with an exasperated smile. 

"What am I going to do with you, Methos?" he asked rhetorically. "Did you think I was going to throw my hands up in horror and refuse to share the rooms with you? We've known each other this long and my virtue is still intact..." 

"Please, Mac, don't make a joke of this!" It was only when Duncan reacted that I realised I'd spoken aloud. I hadn't meant to. Still, he had the grace to look contrite. 

"I'm sorry, Methos, but you seem to be making such a big deal out of this..." 

"To me it is," I replied tightly. Gods, he could be an insensitive bastard sometimes, could Duncan MacLeod! 

"God, no, I didn't mean it like that!" MacLeod swore softly and then looked me squarely in the eyes. "What I meant was that you seem to be blowing this up into some huge problem. It's not. I didn't mean to belittle what you were feeling. I - I'm sorry if I've been a bit slow on the uptake, but..." 

"Why wouldn't you be?" I laughed humourlessly. "Men aren't exactly your scene, now are they, MacLeod? So why should you recognise the signs?" 

"I'm not quite as naive as you seem to think, Methos," he spluttered indignantly. Fine, so I'd wounded Mac's pride. Well, maybe his reading material was a bit more eclectic than I'd given him credit for. 

"Whatever, I never intended you to know," I said carelessly. I heaved a deep sigh. "It would have been a lot easier that way." 

"Why?" 

"Why?" I stared at him incredulously. How could he be so dense! "Come on, MacLeod, get with it! You know you'll never treat me the same way after this. Actually, I can see two possibilities. First, there's the poor old Methos, better not hurt his feelings, routine - which I can't say I find particularly appealing. Alternatively, you appear to treat me the same as ever, while always harbouring this nagging doubt in the back of your mind, wondering about my motives..." I wrenched my gaze away from his finally and developed a sudden interest in the pattern on the carpet under my feet. 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Methos!" Duncan sounded surprisingly bitter. "I thought you knew me better than that." 

"Can you honestly say, MacLeod, that this won't change anything between us?" I challenged him defiantly. As I whipped my head back up to confront him, instead I found myself really looking at Mac for the first time, from head to toe. 

It stopped me dead in my tracks; whatever I'd been intending to say forgotten. Mac was clad in one of the soft, white terry robes the hotel provided for guests. It came to just below his knees, leaving the rest of his legs bare. He was also barefoot. Letting my gaze travel upward, I noticed Duncan had only belted the robe loosely and as a result, a good portion of his chest was visible. The white material set off his tanned skin exquisitely, framing the sculpted muscles. Mac's hair was still wet where he had evidently washed it, but some of the shorter strands were drying. It fanned out onto his shoulders like fine, dark silk. 

If I had thought he was beautiful before, now I knew it for certain. My throat constricted; what had I done that I deserved to be tormented like this? Any one of a thousand things, I knew, but it still didn't seem fair as I drank in the sight of him, storing up the memories. 

"Of course it changes things," Mac said suddenly. "Would you expect anything less?" His voice startled me out of my reverie and as I glanced at his face I was surprised to see him smiling. I hadn't believed Duncan MacLeod had it in him to be so cruel. 

"And I thought I was the resident S.O.B. around here," I muttered angrily, more to myself than anything else. 

"Methos...?" 

He actually sounded shocked by my reaction. Well, what did he expect? Immortal or not I was still, in the most basic sense, human. Screw it! MacLeod could find his own transport back to Paris after all. I wasn't going to subject myself to this humiliation any more. 

"See you around," I spat out as I reached for my coat. "The room's already paid for on my credit card so you won't..." 

I was startled to find myself propelled backwards with considerable force. I fetched up against a wall with an infuriated Duncan MacLeod literally nose to nose with me. If I hadn't known his robe couldn't possibly be concealing a sword it would have been an even more terrifying prospect than it actually was. Mac's hands were planted firmly on the wall to either side of my shoulders, effectively blocking my escape. 

"Since when did you become a complete and utter idiot, Methos?" MacLeod enquired belligerently. 

"Mac?" To my chagrin, my voice came out as little more than a squeak. So much for 5000 years of fighting skills and survival instincts. 

"Are you being deliberately obtuse?" he continued. "Or do you just get off on annoying the shit out of me? Bloody hell, Methos! Talk about crossed wires!" 

"I, er... I don't understand." That didn't even begin to describe my current state of confusion, but it would have to do. The sheer proximity of MacLeod's body had driven what little was left of my wits in a distinctly downward direction. I had a major problem, and the fact that Mac's rapid movements had caused his robe to gape further open was doing nothing for my peace of mind, either. If he didn't stop leaning against me like that soon, Duncan wasn't going to be the only one whose clothes needed cleaning. I had to get his attention. 

"Mac, please..." I pleaded when he showed no sign of relenting. 

"What? Oh..." 

I had shifted my hips fractionally and MacLeod must finally have felt what was causing my distress brush fleetingly against his thigh. He had the grace to blush as he realised what he had unwittingly done to me. Then he pulled back just enough so that he was no longer pressed against me. Mac still did not release me completely, though. 

"Thanks," I muttered gratefully as I willed my body back to a semblance of control. It wasn't easy with his warmth, his scent still surrounding me, but he'd given me the breathing space I needed. "Now please will you explain what the hell that was all about?" 

"I should have thought that was obvious," MacLeod snorted. The dark eyes regarded me suspiciously. 

"Well, not to me!" I retorted, now seriously aggrieved. I tried for haughty disdain, but it was impossible to attain with certain parts of my anatomy still displaying a mind of their own. I shifted again uncomfortably and to my surprise Duncan began to laugh. "I don't see what's so funny," I complained. 

"You are," he smirked. Before I could protest this Mac continued. "You are such a bloody idiot, Methos. I thought your 5000 years might have taught you a few things - especially about not making assumptions..." 

I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that MacLeod and I must be talking different languages. I was certainly unprepared for his sudden movement. All at once his full weight was pressed against me again. The shock of it knocked the breath clear out of me and I opened my mouth to gulp in more air. I didn't have the chance to do so, though, because Mac's lips suddenly descended on mine in a fierce kiss. 

I froze. The lack of oxygen made me light-headed. I thought I would fall, but even as I swayed unsteadily MacLeod's hands were grabbing my shoulders and holding me upright. He drew back a little to look at me with concern and I took the opportunity to draw in several deep, reviving breaths. 

"MacLeod?" I had my voice back if not my scattered wits. "What the hell?" 

"You are allowed to kiss me back," he muttered wryly. 

"Kiss? You want me to kiss you?" I managed stupidly. 

"Bright boy!" Taunting me with my own words again. Mac had a bad habit of doing that. Still, he had suggested a way I might keep him quiet for a while... 

I decided to accept Duncan's words at face value. Carefully I leaned forward and pressed my lips to Mac's. They opened to me and I felt as if my heart would tear itself apart inside me. I was kissing Duncan MacLeod and he was responding to me - not turning away in revulsion. Hesitantly I let the tip of my tongue touch his lips, mutely asking a question. An equally uncertain answer - MacLeod's tongue gently stealing out to stroke mine - it was all I needed to know. 

I brought my arms up to hug him close to me and deepened the kiss at the same time. Duncan met my ardour with his own passion. I had expected further hesitancy, but there was none - at least when it came to kissing. It seemed that, misunderstandings aside, Duncan had no reservations about sharing this with me. And yes, he definitely knew how to kiss. I could see that there were more reasons than the blatantly obvious why Mac was never short of female company. His lips were soft, he tasted sweet... Oh yes, he was exquisitely talented with his mouth. 

The thought of Duncan and women was enough to penetrate the haze of desire surrounding me. I paused and pulled back, thinking furiously. I was very definitely of the masculine persuasion and MacLeod had never shown any interest in his own gender before that I was aware of. That wasn't conclusive, but I had to know before this went any further what his motivations were. Did he genuinely want me, Methos, his decidedly male friend; or was this just intended as a sympathy fuck - a chance for me to get my feelings for MacLeod out of my system? It was just the kind of noble gesture Mac was given to making. And if that was all it was to him, I had no intention of taking him up on the offer. 

It took every ounce of self-control I possessed, but I resisted MacLeod's efforts to draw me down into another kiss. My body was convinced even if my brain wasn't. Mac's expression was puzzled as I very deliberately broke free of his embrace, but he let me go and stood patiently watching me. 

"Why?" I asked simply. I drew my arms close about my chest, trying to counteract the sudden chill I felt. Mac had been so warm, his natural body heat augmented by the warmth of the bath. I regretted the loss of that heat. 

"I thought that was my question," he responded cautiously. I could see him trying to fathom out my unexpected withdrawal. MacLeod shook his head. "I'm not sure what you're really asking, Methos." 

"I just want to know why, MacLeod; why did you do - that...?" I gestured with one hand, trying to encompass all that had passed between us in the past few minutes. 

"Wasn't it what you wanted?" he asked, patently confused. 

"Yes! Of course it was," I replied, exasperated. "And that's exactly my point! It was what I wanted - and you knew that perfectly well. What I'm more interested in is what you wanted. You've never given any indication you were after anything more than friendship from me up until five minutes ago. What kind of conclusions do you think that's going to lead me to draw?" 

"Neither have you!" Duncan shot back at once. "But I'm not standing here questioning your sincerity. And while we're on that subject, forgive me for reminding you, Methos, but what about Alexa? It's not so long ago you were standing in my loft acting the lovestruck teenager over her. Where exactly does she fit into all this?" 

"This isn't about me and Alexa, MacLeod..." 

"Well maybe it should be." 

He had a point, but I couldn't make myself see it that way. Alexa belonged with Adam Pierson, but right now that wasn't who I was. In the here and now I was Methos - a 5000 year old Immortal - and that was someone Alexa would never know and had no part of. As I saw it, it was Methos, not Adam, who had feelings for Duncan MacLeod, and consequently it was Methos who answered MacLeod's tacit accusation. 

"No, this is just about you and me, Mac." I was quite clear on that fact in my own mind now. "Though while we're busy reminding ourselves about Alexa, I might just mention that you didn't exactly seem to be considering her when you launched yourself at me!" 

"All right, fine, you've made your point, Methos. I'm sorry." 

I nodded to acknowledge Duncan's apology before continuing, "But seeing as how you asked, yes, I do love Alexa. Or rather, Adam Pierson loves Alexa. No, don't look at me like that, MacLeod; Adam and Methos are, in a very real sense, two different people." Duncan was looking at me sceptically. "Trust me, it's the truth," I insisted, and was grateful he had no idea just *how* true it was. 

"With Alexa everything is different. There are some things she can never know or understand, never share with me. If we had longer maybe I would tell her, but as things are... I can't take the risk of what the shock of finding out might do to her. You do know though, MacLeod, and just for a little while I need to be with someone who does... Look, does this make any kind of sense at all?" 

"Mmm hmm, but tell me something else, Methos, exactly how long have you been in love with me?" There was a definite curiosity in Duncan's tone, but I was still feeling on the defensive. 

"I never said I loved you..." MacLeod snorted inelegantly at this and I conceded the point - again. I threw up my hands in acknowledgement of defeat. "All right, all right!! Probably from the first moment I actually met you." 

"How could you?" Duncan looked at me disbelievingly. "I'm a little too old to believe in love at first sight." 

"And there was me thinking you were the soul of romance, MacLeod. I'm truly disappointed," I taunted him gently. Maybe he was right and there was no such thing as love at first sight, but I was a firm believer in lust at first sight. I'd been there a few times in my long life... "But don't forget I already knew quite a bit about you from your Chronicles, the kind of man you were. Being a Watcher has its advantages. It was only a matter of time before we met and I was already... Look, suffice to say I don't usually offer my head to strange Immortals on first meeting." 

I didn't have to add that it was rare indeed for me to come out of hiding and make myself known to another Immortal, period. Mac knew that well enough without my reminding him. 

"'Mi casa es su casa'," said Duncan with a remembering smile. "Though, judging by how much of my beer you've drunk since then, it should have been me who said that to you!" 

"Yeah, maybe," I agreed with an answering smile. I'd never quite understood the impulse which led me to offer that to him. It had simply seemed - right - at the time. Actually, if my memory served me correctly, MacLeod had spoken those words to me - the first time I visited him in Seacouver. That wasn't important now, though, but something else was. "You still haven't answered my question, Mac." 

"Which one?" His heavy, dark brows knit together in a frown. 

"About what we were doing before," I reminded MacLeod. "Was that because you wanted it, or were you just doing it out of misguided pity for poor lovestruck Methos? Then again, maybe you saw it as payment for services rendered during the Dark Quickening?" I saw that I had genuinely shocked him this time. 

"Methos, do you really think me that shallow - or callous?" The Scots burr was suddenly more pronounced in Duncan's voice. It often seemed to be a reaction to emotion with him, I'd observed. 

"I'd hoped you weren't," I said softly. "But your reaction was so - unexpected. I didn't think..." 

"No, you certainly didn't think, did you!" Mac grumbled affectionately. "Come here, you bloody idiot! What am I going to do with you, Methos?" 

I could have made a few suggestions if he really wasn't sure, but Duncan moved close again and pulled me back into his arms before I could speak. I put up no resistance this time. It felt too good. I was still deeply aroused, but our conversation had given me time to regroup, and I was nowhere near as close to the edge as I had been. I let my own arms slide loosely around his waist and leaned forward to rest my forehead against MacLeod's. We stood that way for a long moment. 

"What do you want, Methos?" Duncan asked at last. 

"Isn't that painfully obvious?" I replied, still trying to make light of things. Emotional, as opposed to physical, closeness doesn't come easily to me, but Mac wasn't about to accept my evasiveness. 

"Methos, if we're going to do this it's not going to be 'wham bam thank you ma'am'! You're too important to me for that," he persisted. 

"You mean you don't want to have sex - you want to make love," I responded glibly. I really can be an insensitive idiot myself sometimes! 

"Don't make a joke of this, Methos!" Duncan had unconsciously echoed my own protest from earlier and I realised then that I had angered him with my flippancy. At the same moment it also occurred to me that this meant far more to Mac than I had thought. Perhaps even as much as it meant to me - despite my rather sad efforts to prove otherwise. The realisation was a humbling one. 

"I'm sorry, Mac." Simple words, but I really did mean them, and he knew that as he looked into my eyes. His expression softened; then Duncan gave me one of those beautiful smiles of his - the one that's so full of innocence and straightforward joy it makes him look about the same age as Richie. 

"You can be yourself with me," Mac said softly. "In here you don't have to be Adam Pierson or anyone else but Methos, the world's oldest Immortal - whoever the hell he really is - no games, no disguises." 

"Thank you, Duncan." I had only rarely used his first name before, but it seemed appropriate to do so now. His friends all called him Mac, and so did I usually. The change was somehow indicative of this step we had taken and appeared to please him, too. 

I pulled him close to me then. His warmth was a blessing and I revelled in it. Slowly I ran my hands over MacLeod's broad back, feeling his muscles ripple enticingly under the robe. His strength attracted me; I didn't find that surprising. With men I have always tended to take the submissive role - not that I was ever passive... Well, there were exceptions, but they had more to do with survival than any pleasure I derived from those particular acts. As a rule, though, I simply found it pleasant at times to place myself in another's hands, rather than take the lead as I generally had to with women. 

MacLeod had begun his own exploration of my body. His scorching hands had found their way under my sweater and were testing my own strength. My physique was quite different from Duncan's - longer and leaner - but I still prided myself on maintaining a certain level of fitness. What Mac discovered seemed to please him. 

"You're stronger than I thought, Methos," he murmured, his lips busy against my throat. "You've been hiding more than I realised under those baggy sweaters of yours." 

"It never hurts to have your opposition underestimate you," I agreed, finding it increasingly hard to speak. Duncan's mouth was doing the most incredible things to my neck - always an exquisitely sensitive spot for an Immortal, for obvious reasons. I'll admit I could get quite a kick out of kneeling with another's sword at my throat - under the right circumstances. 

"Well, I want to see what I'm up against!" Duncan's big hands grabbed the bottom of my sweater and hauled it unceremoniously over my head. He tossed it carelessly onto the floor and stood back to take a good look at me. Much to my relief Mac grinned appreciatively. 

"Very nice," he observed, his voice deliciously husky. If he didn't feel desire for me, Duncan was doing a damned fine impression of it. He reached out, his hands leaving trails of fire down my chest. "Hmm, almost no hair, smooth... I like it." 

So did I. And I liked it even more when MacLeod's hot, wet mouth suddenly descended on my chest and quickly found its way to one of my nipples. I have quite a thing for being touched or sucked there and my involuntary moan clearly told Duncan he was doing something right. He proceeded to drive me nearly out of my mind then as his fingers - their calloused roughness sending little shudders of pleasure through me - teased both my nipples erect. Finally Mac went to work on the hard nubs with his teeth and tongue until I was whimpering like a child with frustrated desire. 

"Please, Duncan, stop!" I begged. "If you keep this up it's going to be over much too soon and I'm all for taking the scenic route..." 

"No staying power you old guys," Mac grumbled affectionately, but he did let me off the hook. 

I rewarded him with a kiss. There was no hesitation this time as we opened our mouths to a thorough exploration by our eager tongues. As we kissed I gave in to an impulse I'd had for a very long time. I dug my fingers deep into Duncan's thick brown hair. The heavy, still-damp locks felt like silk to the touch. The scent of the shampoo he'd used rose to my nostrils and I inhaled deeply. 

I hadn't the patience for long hair myself these days. I'd kept mine cropped short for many years now, but I had always admired Duncan's glorious mane. So often my fingers had itched to touch it, stroke it, and I'd had to resist. Now I was free to play and I grasped it in my hands and gently combed through it, learning how it felt against my palms. It was a deliciously sensual experience. 

"You like my hair?" teased Duncan when our lips parted. He tousled my own short locks gently as he said it. It felt incredibly good and I leaned into the touch so he wouldn't stop. MacLeod apparently got the message and began a much more thorough scalp massage. 

"Hm, yeah, think of all the possibilities it has when we make love," I said absently. I was leaning bonelessly against Mac now as his fingers continued to work their magic. "Gods, don't you dare stop. That is heaven." 

"I never realised you were so much the sensualist," observed MacLeod with some amusement as he easily supported my weight. 

"Oh, many of the cultures I've lived in knew a thing or two about sensuality, Mac. I always found it infinitely preferable to asceticism when I had a choice. Mmm, do you think we might relocate to the bed while I'm still capable of walking? That is, unless you'd planned to take me here on the floor?" 

It was actually a half serious suggestion. I had to admit the thought of making love to Duncan MacLeod on the rug in front of the roaring log fire had a certain appeal. As I'd said, I do like my comforts though, and the beds in this hotel were nothing if not comfortable. 

"Which would you prefer?" Mac asked with a smile. It was a tough choice. 

"Bed," I decided. 

Duncan stopped his ministrations and steered me over to the bed. It was probably just as well he didn't let go of me, I was almost certainly too relaxed to stand unaided. I flopped down onto the edge and Mac bent to remove my boots and socks for me. I clambered back on the thick, soft quilt, giving him room to join me. He did so, stretching out on his back with his hands tucked behind his head. Apparently Duncan was waiting for me to make the next move. 

I lay propped up on one elbow and took a long moment to simply appreciate the view. Then I reached out with one hand and loosened the belt of Mac's robe, opening it fully. Finally, I was able to see Duncan MacLeod in all his not inconsiderable glory, and it had definitely been worth the wait. 

All his skin was tanned a golden brown, surprisingly soft and satiny. Duncan's muscles were strong and clearly defined. His sculpted chest, thrown into relief by his pose, had a covering of silky, dark hair that severely tempted my fingers. I resisted the urge to touch, letting my gaze travel lower to admire Mac's muscular calves and thighs. All those workouts and sparring sessions certainly had their payoff! 

I was only distracting myself from where I most wanted to look, though. I let my eyes rest on the treasure I had often speculated about and was not at all disappointed after the long anticipation. If I had had any doubts as to whether Duncan really did want me they were quickly dispelled. His penis was already erect, long and thick as it rose from the nest of dark curls at his groin. 

"You truly are beautiful, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," I said reverently. I turned my head to meet his dark gaze and I smiled. It might be a cliche, but I couldn't remember ever being happier. 

"And what about you, Methos?" Duncan asked, his answering smile warm, inviting. 

"Me? Oh no, I'm just a guy. You're the one with the franchise on god-like." 

Good old Methos, always self-effacing - I suddenly felt very ordinary compared to Mac. I also had the distinct impression that he'd find me something of a disappointment. After all, Mac was used to keeping company with beautiful women. I'd admired his taste often enough myself. He wasn't going to let me get away with it, though. 

Duncan flipped over - shrugging out of his robe as he did so - and pushed me flat on my back. 

"Sooo, let's see what the old guy's been keeping hidden in his jeans," Mac teased. "Quite a lot, it seems..." One dark eyebrow rose suggestively as Duncan's hand found the uncomfortable bulge my jeans had been just barely concealing for some time. He gave an experimental squeeze and I groaned. "Painful, huh?" 

"Geez, MacLeod, since when did you get off on being a sadist?!" I protested weakly. He grinned at me wickedly. 

"Don't worry, I'll kiss it better for you..." 

"Promises, promises!" Oh yes indeed, if only, I prayed silently. 

Duncan laughed, but relented and undid the button and zipper of my jeans. I gave a sigh of relief as the pressure on my cock was released. I helpfully raised my hips to allow Mac to pull both my jeans and the boxers I was wearing underneath down and off my body. They followed his robe onto the floor. 

Before I knew it Mac was straddling my thighs, looking down at me with undisguised interest. His dark gaze took in the whole package, missing nothing. I wondered what he thought, but Duncan didn't enlighten me and I wasn't arrogant enough to ask. Instead I lay still and stared back up at him, a challenge in my eyes. 

"It seems you have me at something of a disadvantage, Mac." I grinned wolfishly. 

"And you seem to find that surprisingly gratifying," Duncan observed thoughtfully. 

"Well, after 50 centuries, being the one controlling all the moves can get a bit predictable," I agreed easily. 

"And you hate to be predictable..." Duncan was testing me, though exactly what response he was looking for I wasn't sure. 

"Oh yes, you know me too well! Besides, don't you?" I let my eyelids droop, looking up at him through my lashes in what I hoped he would consider a seductive manner. Slowly I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue, never breaking eye contact. Then I moved one languid hand to my chest, toying with a nipple. I'd had plenty of practice at playing the whore in my long life and I hoped MacLeod would appreciate my efforts now. I wondered how he would react to my display. I didn't have to wait long to find out. 

"Dear Lord, Methos, stop it! I'm no' your customer - at least I hope to God that's no' how you see me! Damn it, I'm your friend; I don't want - this!" Duncan sounded angry, in full outraged Scots flow, and I didn't understand why. He reached down and batted my fingers away from my chest. "Is this your no' so subtle way of finally telling me something about your past life? I know I said you could be yourself here, but is that who Methos really is? A cheap whore?" 

"No!" I was sincerely confused. "I thought you'd like this. My other lovers always said that they did." 

It wasn't much in the way of justification, but it was the best I had to offer. I didn't want to tell Duncan that I was still afraid he would compare me with those he'd bedded before and find me lacking in the comparison. I wished Mac could see that I hadn't meant to anger him - and I still wasn't entirely sure why this had. I had only wanted him to take pleasure from our lovemaking: to at least consider the possibility of repeating the experience when we were both free to make that choice. So I had fallen back on the practised moves which had, more than once in my long history, made me quite the favoured catamite. I had to admit, though, that the act had come back all too easily for me to be comfortable thinking about it overmuch. How thin the veneer of civilisation could be! 

"I'm sure they did like it," Duncan exclaimed, "and so do I - but for the wrong reasons!" He looked exasperated again. It seemed to be his most common reaction towards me today. "Methos, I'm not saying that this is something I'd never want from you, but not now. I'm sorry if I overreacted - I shouldn't have called you a whore - but can't you see...? We have so little time together right now and so I want what we share to be honest. I said no games, and I meant it. 

"I want you, Methos. I was only angry because I could feel you slipping away from me, hiding behind - this... I don't want or need any kind of act from you right now. Maybe in the future - when we're not on borrowed time - you can seduce me using every trick in your armoury. But not today, please. Trust me, you'll do just fine as you are. Don't you understand that? I want to make love to the real Methos. Mr 'I'm just a guy' Methos!" 

"But why would you be interested in him?" I asked. Was there no end to Duncan MacLeod's capacity to surprise me? "He's a pretty boring person really, 5000 years notwithstanding." Nor could I entirely agree with Mac's contention that that *was* the true Methos. Wasn't he just another construct in a long line of them, stretching back through the centuries? I decided not to argue the point. 

"Because he's the Methos I've got to know," said Duncan patiently, as if explaining it to a five year old. "You know, he's the guy who sprawls all over my couch, dumps his shoes on my floor, drinks my beer and eats me out of house and home. More importantly, he's also the guy who's pulled my ass out of the fire on more than one occasion. That's the Methos I owe my life to - my friend. The Methos I love." 

I looked up, astonished. Duncan was staring down at me with another of those beautiful, dreamy smiles plastered over his face. By way of contrast I knew that I was gaping back at him, doing my best impression of a fish out of water. 

"Love?" I asked stupidly. 

"You love me; did you think it wasn't returned?" Mac said softly. 

"I - I don't know." I really didn't know what to say. "Do you mean it, Duncan?" Stupid, stupid question! 

"Come here and I'll show you how much I mean it," he informed me primly. 

With that Mac leaned forward, his hair fanning out around his face in silken waves. It caressed my chest with maddeningly soft brushes as he bent to capture my lips in a searing kiss. 

When the need to draw breath forced us apart, Duncan continued his downward trail of exploration. The combination of hot, moist mouth and damp, silky hair on my skin was both exquisite and torturous as Mac spent considerable time paying homage to my neck and throat next. Where his sharp teeth marked me the faint spark of Quickening, healing the slight wounds, ran over my skin making me shiver. In its wake Duncan's lips and tongue followed, soothing and arousing at the same time. 

"You have a beautiful neck, Methos," Duncan whispered at one point, pausing for a moment from licking the beads of sweat which had collected in the hollow of my throat. "Make sure your head stays connected to it for a few more centuries yet..." 

"Don't worry, I intend to," I agreed fervently. That was one sentiment I heartily endorsed! 

MacLeod made my chest his next playground. I was helpless, and willingly so, under the onslaught of his touches and kisses. He laughingly sought out all my ticklish spots, of which I have a few, then gleefully tortured me with fingertips and the curtain of his hair. When I was breathless with laughter he swooped down again and proceeded to lick and suck my nipples to attention. I was clutching the bedclothes and groaning wildly before Duncan was halfway finished with me. 

"Dear Gods, Mac," I protested when he paused for a moment, "are you always like this?" 

"What do you mean?" Duncan grinned insouciantly. 

"You're bloody insatiable! I feel like I'm being eaten alive." 

"I haven't even started yet." Mac lowered his gaze significantly to the one part of me he'd so far ignored. "Want me to stop?" I'd have liked to wipe the smug grin off his face, but I didn't have the strength to move. Besides, I was enjoying this far too much. 

"Don't even think about it," I threatened. "Your Quickening would probably be nearly as good as the sex!" 

"But you only get one shot at that..." Duncan pointed out smartly. I stifled a laugh. 

"All right, you win. Insatiable it is." 

"I knew you'd see things my way in the end." Mac grinned even more smugly. 

And then all I could see was stars. Duncan scooted back and without warning bent down to run his tongue in a slick trail all along the length of my cock. Much to my disgust, I whimpered. Mac raised his head and looked at me in amusement. 

"Problem?" 

I dug my fingers deep into Duncan's hair and hauled him up bodily until we were nose to nose. I fixed him with a stern stare - at least I hoped it was. 

"Only if you stop," I enunciated clearly and slowly. Then I shoved his face back down towards my groin. Mac's warm breath swept over my penis as he laughed at my reaction. 

"After 5000 years I would have thought you'd have learned at least a little patience," Mac teased. I gritted my teeth and didn't rise to the bait. 

Duncan settled himself more comfortably between my thighs and, as he did so, his hair dragged across my cock, igniting a thousand fires in my nerves. He must have felt me tense under him for his big hands were suddenly soothing me, resting lightly on my hips to still me. I knew where I really wanted them, though, and I writhed in Mac's grasp, seeking the contact I needed. He shushed me gently, smiling up at me with laughter dancing in his deep brown eyes. 

I glared back at him with as much command as I could muster. I heard the single word "Patience" as Duncan lowered his lips to kiss the tip of my cock. The sensation was electric, and I almost came then and there, but I knew how much pleasure I would be robbing myself of if I ended it so soon. It didn't matter that my Immortal recuperative abilities would have me ready again in a comparatively short space of time. There could be only one first time with Duncan, and I wanted it to last. So, with an effort, I found control and rested my head back on the pillow. 

Mac seemed to understand and gave me a moment's respite before his hands went to work on me again. Then he wrapped the fingers of one large hand around the base of my penis, steadying it. Duncan exerted a gentle but stimulating pressure as he opened his mouth to capture the tip between his soft lips. Dipping lower he sucked me firmly, his tongue swirling over the head of my cock to spread the seeping moisture there. 

It was glorious, and I felt myself relax utterly; I trusted Mac implicitly to keep me safe. My legs fell wide apart to give Duncan better access as I sprawled bonelessly on the quilt. It appeared to have been the sign he had been waiting for. His other hand burrowed between my thighs, tracing a path down to the opening to my body. One rough fingertip circled the puckered ring of muscle lazily and I moaned helplessly in response. 

Duncan let my cock slide out of his mouth, but only for a moment did I regret that loss. His tongue began to leave a moist trail, first playing over my balls and then going deeper. I angled my hips to make it easier for him, wanting his intimate touch more than anything. He granted my wish without hesitation. It seemed I would have to revise my estimation of Duncan MacLeod's experience with other men. 

I breathed his name like a prayer as Mac ran his tongue delicately over my opening. The wet heat was wonderful and my fists clenched on the quilt convulsively. I was so close. Duncan kept up the torture until I was almost crying from the pleasure of it. When he finally breached my body, just barely, with the tip of his tongue it was too much, and my senses deserted me as I came violently. 

Mac's hands anchored me through the storm of emotions I felt as I rode out one of the most intense orgasms I could ever remember. My body shuddered uncontrollably and I was certain my heart would shatter from the violence of the feelings sweeping over me. Of course I was over-dramatising, but I was sincerely grateful for his strength and the reassuring buzz of his presence. Then Duncan slid up to lie beside me and he pulled me into his arms as the intensity passed from me and the aftermath left me vulnerable and reeling. 

"You OK?" Duncan asked softly after a minute or two. 

"I think so," I managed eventually, trying for casual and missing by a mile or two. "Is it always like that with you?" I added as I slowly began to recover. He smiled another of those trademark smiles, his dark eyes sparkling. 

"Hmm, sometimes it's even better," Mac confided. From somewhere I found the strength to laugh. 

"I'd never survive! Even Immortality has its limits." I snuggled closer, enjoying the simple pleasure of being with him. Duncan's solid strength, his warmth, the unique scent of his skin were seductive. Small wonder I'd been attracted to him from the first. 

Pressed close against Duncan as I now was, I became aware of the hard length of his cock trapped between our bodies. I had been so caught up in my own pleasure I hadn't thought to ensure that Mac found the experience equally enjoyable. I didn't want him to think me an ungrateful or selfish lover. In truth, I generally prided myself on my ability to please a partner. Yet now, when it really mattered to me what Duncan thought, I had simply taken what was offered with no care for his needs. 

I wanted to make amends. Duncan deserved so much better from me, and yet he hadn't uttered one word of reproach. I slipped a hand between us. My fingers curled carefully around the hot flesh and I began to stroke it. After a moment, I felt Duncan slide one of his own hands down to cover mine. To my surprise, though, instead of guiding my caresses Mac stilled my hand and then gently pulled it away. 

"Mac? I don't understand. Don't you want me to do this for you?" I pulled back far enough to be able to look into his dark eyes. There was only warmth and affection to be seen there, so his reaction to my touch made no sense to me. 

"Of course I do, Methos, but not just yet. This was my gift to you. It needs no repayment. Right now I just want to hold you - to feel you here with me, alive. Can you understand that? What you did - what you risked for me..." Duncan paused, drawing me in close again. "There aren't any words I can say that will ever be able to tell you just how much I owe you. I can't even begin to thank you... You didn't just save my life, Methos - you saved my soul." 

I touched my fingers gently to Duncan's lips, silencing him. Yes, I did understand. 

One of Duncan's hands sought my hair and began gently stroking it. My eyelids slowly grew too heavy and slid shut. Gods, I could get used to this... 

Abruptly I turned, burying my face against his chest as the enormity of what we had done hit home. Alexa! The guilt struck me full force. Here I was lying in Duncan MacLeod's arms while she waited for me alone - trusting me without question - in Athens. All my earlier justifications seemed specious. How could I claim to be any less Adam Pierson than I was Methos just because of the company I was keeping? It was merely an excuse, and not a very good one at that. 

"It was your choice to make, Methos." Duncan's gentle voice reached my ears, startling me. How had he known? Was I that transparent? 

"I know," I said simply. I realised there was no censure in his words, but I also knew his penchant for trying to take responsibility for things that were not his fault. "This guilt is for me, not you, MacLeod. Remember that!" 

"Will you tell her?" It seemed for once that Mac was not trying to make me listen to the oft-ignored voice of my conscience. It was ironic that on this occasion I was all too aware of its promptings anyway. 

"No." I was quite clear on that in my own mind and my reasons were not entirely selfish. "She needs me too much. I won't risk driving a wedge between us. And I do love her, Duncan, never doubt that." 

"I don't." Mac could still find a smile for me. "I saw the two of you together. But I think you were right in what you said before, Methos. You needed this. I'm sure it can't be easy for you." 

"What...?" Was Duncan MacLeod really trying to help me justify my actions to myself? 

"She's dying, Methos, we both know that. I doubt she's that strong now. I imagine you must have to be very careful with her, have to hold back a lot. I think that must be tough on you, my friend." Duncan's empathy startled me. 

"Very perceptive, MacLeod!" Not that it eased my feelings of guilt a great deal. Actually, I was feeling like a complete shit about the whole thing. Well, it wouldn't be the first time. 

Sensing my mood, Duncan tightened his arm around me, giving me a reassuring hug. He dropped a quick kiss on the top of my head. 

"Your motives were good, Methos," Mac assured me. "If you hadn't come I'd still be out there killing, tearing people's lives apart. Believe me, I needed you..." 

"But this was never on the agenda, Duncan," I insisted. "I told Alexa I had to leave her for a short while to help a good friend who was in trouble. She understood that, even encouraged me to come. But that didn't give me the right to jump into bed with you at the first opportunity! No matter how much I wanted or needed it, no matter how tempting the offer... Gods, you'd think I should be able to manage six months of commitment without being unfaithful!" 

"Don't tear yourself apart over this, Methos." Even now Duncan was still trying to make me feel better. It didn't seem right. 

"Since when did Duncan MacLeod throw the rule book out the window?" I asked, more sharply than I had intended. 

"When the last thing a friend needed to hear from me was preaching about honour and ethics." He met my irritation with understanding. "Your heart's in the right place, Methos. You aren't going to hurt Alexa and *you* will be the stronger for what we've shared here." 

"Maybe you're right..." I wanted to be convinced. 

"I know I am. So come, Methos, stay with me tonight, make love to me. Let me be the selfish one, in need of your company. Tomorrow we'll drive back to Paris and then you can go back to Alexa and be her strength for as long as she needs you." Duncan somehow managed to make it all sound so simple. 

"When did you get to be so wise, MacLeod?" I couldn't resist the jibe, though there was no malice intended. 

"Must be catching." Mac smiled down at me and ruffled my hair affectionately. After that how could I deny him what he wanted? Especially as I wanted it just as much as he did. Making love to Duncan MacLeod was really very easy, tomorrow would be the true test of my resolve. If I loved Alexa, and I still believed that I did, I would find the strength to leave Duncan and return to her side. I would say nothing of what had passed here, burying my deeper feelings for Mac and thinking only of her. I would trade the possibility of an eternity in Duncan's arms for the certainty of Alexa's mortality. If I loved her enough I would return to watch her die, slowly and in pain. 

Take it from one who knows, 5000 years of practice does nothing to make that any easier.


End file.
